


never one for the truth (choose dare)

by pawnofkings



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew actually talks civilly with the Foxes they're all shook, Andrew is Into The Accent, British, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Making Out, Neil British Accent Reveal episode 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawnofkings/pseuds/pawnofkings
Summary: “You’re never going to be able to talk again without them staring at you like you hung the moon”, Andrew informs Neil.“Says the man currently looking at Neil like he hung the moon”, Kevin huffs.__The Foxes play truth or dare, and it turns out that Neil has been deceiving them all. Feat. Neil with his real accent, Andrew being civil with the Foxes, and horny/tender Andreil.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 30
Kudos: 570





	never one for the truth (choose dare)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the THIRD (3rd) fic I’ve written about Neil having a British accent (and it hasn’t even been six weeks since I joined the fandom!). Don’t mind me, I’m just obsessing. It’s also my favorite Andreil one-shot out of the 15+ I’ve posted which has to mean something, surely. 
> 
> (Maybe horny/tender Andreil is my favorite Andreil. I should make an alignment chart. Both sides of the nine-square grid are just horny/tender/feral, because that way you can do horny/horny or feral/feral combos, which are also valid. Personally a fan of feral/tender.)

“This is childish”, Andrew mutters.

“No one’s forcing you to participate”, Nicky points out. 

Andrew settles for glaring at his cousin (which shows much restraint, since he’s got a steaming cup of tea in his hands and could’ve poured it on him if he wanted to - but he won’t, mostly because it’s not his, it’s Neil’s) and burrows further into the couch.

It’s one of the Foxes’ awful ‘bonding nights’, which is a tradition recently started and one of the biggest indicators of Neil’s effect on the team. Before Neil showed up, more than one of them would’ve left the room with broken bones. As it currently stands, it’s been a month since championships (a topic rarely discussed, actually - luckily), a few months since Baltimore, and team cohesion is stronger than ever.

(The freshmen will arrive in just one week. Just the thought of it has the potential to ruin his already brittle good mood, so he suppresses it.)

When Neil returns from the kitchen, ‘biscuits’ in hand - Andrew will never stop judging him for not saying ‘cookies’ like a  _ normal person _ \- and carefully takes the cup out of Andrew’s hands with a grateful smile like he did more than hold a cup for thirty seconds, stupid sunshine smile, it begins.

Nicky pats his hands against the wooden floor in a semblance of a drum roll and Allison calls out the first question. “Matt, truth or dare?” It’s said with all the drama of a life-or-death situation, as if the fate of the world hinges on Matt’s answer.  _ What are we, twelve _ ? Not that he was doing these sorts of things as a kid. He wonders if that’s why he hates them so much.

Matt ponders for an excessive amount of time before grinning and finally saying “Dare.”

The room erupts into cheers. Allison leans back into her armchair with a pleased look on her face, fingertip pressed to her bottom lip as she thinks. “Mm… Benchpress one of us.”

Nicky cackles loudly, a shrill sound that grates on his ears. Neil, at his side, has an amused twist to his lips and a certain spark in his eyes. (If for nothing else, then Andrew is at least grateful to the Foxes for that spark.)

Matt looks around the room. Allison, to Renee, to Dan, to Nicky, Aaron, Kevin, Andrew, Neil. “Never benchpressed a person before.”

“I’ll put it on the list, baby!” Dan shouts. 

Matt snorts, then tilts his head, considering. “Who’s the lightest?”

It’s Neil. Andrew knows it’s Neil. His stupid eidetic memory won’t let him learn anything and then forget it, so one glance at a stats sheet for the Foxes and the information is in there, in some mental database, forever. A true waste of space.

“Hmmm”, Dan hums, looking at each of her teammates in turn. “Well, Andrew and Aaron are the shortest -”

“I have knives.”

“I am  _ not _ going to -”

“- but they have those goalie and backliner muscles”, Dan concludes. “So I think we should take at least Renee and Neil into account.”

Renee, standing at a formidable five-foot-four, is also a goalie and could pop a man’s head off with any combination of her four limbs, and they quickly decide that she isn’t it, either. “That leaves Neil”, Allison reasons, and the smile she turns on him is ominous. At Andrew’s side, Neil shifts. 

“Up for it, Neilio?” Matt asks.

“If you never call me that again”, Neil agrees, and hands Andrew the cup again. It’s a bit colder now, no longer scalding his palms, just pleasantly warming them. Andrew tries not to think of Neil’s own hands having just been on it, because that would be so stupid, especially when he can just grab the man’s  _ actual hand _ whenever he wants. 

Andrew doesn’t think this is interesting at all. But he can’t quite bring himself to look away as Matt lies down on the floor and Neil carefully, with some assistance from Renee for balance, gets into position. “This is weird and uncomfortable”, Neil says, but the look he shoots Andrew is designed to let him know he’s okay.

“How many times?” Matt checks.

“Seventy-five!” Allison sounds way too entertained.

“Let’s say ten”, Nicky suggests. 

Matt is objectively attractive. A ‘hunk’, according to straight women at least (Andrew loathes the word), with so much muscle that he gets winded if he runs half as far as Neil can run without breaking a sweat. Andrew imagines he could break a neck without too much of a hassle. 

But he won’t look too closely at Matt’s biceps, or triceps, or what seems to be an entirely new muscle group Matt has pioneered on his arms, because he’s loyal, damn it, and if Neil isn’t looking at anyone else (demisexual or not, he isn’t) then Andrew won’t either. (Neil’s said he doesn’t have a problem with it, that he doesn’t expect Andrew to suddenly become blind to other men being attractive, as long as Andrew never acts on it. But. And, like, it’s not exactly  _ hard _ to not notice other men when Neil is  _ right there _ . So.)

“… eight, nine, TEN!” The team cheers louder than they have after winning some Exy games. Dan’s grinning widely when she says that “This is all I’ve ever needed.”

Andrew averts his eyes when the two start making out on the adjacent loveseat and instead pays attention to Neil getting resettled onto the cushion next to his own, thighs  _ almost _ touching, shoulders softly pressed against each other. “That was strange”, Neil comments, and grabs his tea to take a sip. He wrinkles his nose with an “Eugh, it’s cold” and the game resumes. And Neil continues drinking his too-cold tea that he was just complaining about. Idiot.

“Andrew, truth or dare?” Matt asks with only some apprehension. Oh, bold.

“Truth”, Andrew answers, with enough of a warning in his eyes to hopefully keep Matt from asking anything too personal.

Judging by Matt’s heavy swallow, he gets the message. “Uh… What do you think you’ll do after you graduate?”

Ah, relatively safe question then. He can physically  _ feel _ Neil’s sudden attention like a vibration, like a hum in the air, like a jolt passing between their shoulders and sides. It’s not something they’ve talked about yet, and Neil seems  _ oh so curious _ . “I’ll go pro for two million dollars or more, probably”, Andrew says, and Nicky snorts. “I’m not putting up with this damn sport for any less.”

“And what would you do otherwise?” Allison asks, then looks surprised that she even asked. That they’re interacting without fighting. Andrew feels it too, the unfamiliarity and the strangeness of  _ talking _ to the upperclassmen without threats exchanging hands. 

And he doesn’t even think it’d be a struggle to get the words out. So he does. “Professor, maybe.”

It’s not something he’s ever told anyone. He’s the only criminology major on the team, so his classes seldom overlap with anyone else’s (a blessing, he thinks), so they don’t know this separate world of 400-person lectures on blood splatter and professors who’ve solved at least one murder before becoming professors and getting to go onto a staged crime scene and  _ deduce _ . Neil’s seen some of it, been a witness to some after-class discussions between Andrew and a professor who said something  _ interesting _ , and whenever that happens, Neil can’t stop smiling for maybe up to ten minutes afterward, and Andrew will give him a  _ look _ , but Neil just won’t stop looking pleased.

Andrew wonders if Neil will feel betrayed, now. Andrew never told him about this part of himself, the part that wants to stand at the front of a classroom and be just like those professors who seem to actually care. But Neil just knocks their knees together and looks at him with happy, shining eyes, eyes that scream ‘I might not even mind if you leave my dream behind for yours’ or maybe even ‘I’m glad that you have something you want to do and I won’t even make you feel guilty for wanting it’.

“Huh. I never could’ve imagined that”, Dan says. 

“His students wouldn’t dare get anything below a 98 for the fear of death”, Matt jokes, then winces as if he immediately regrets it.

Andrew lets him get away with the jest. “If it works it works.”

Matt looks at him for a second, startled, then laughs. “I guess so.”

Andrew directs his question at Renee, who tells them that she’d love to live in Vancouver one day, or perhaps even Nice, and she gets Nicky to do a handstand against the wall which almost results in a broken neck, and then Nicky turns to Neil with a smile that looks as if he’s got this question prepared as of weeks past.

“Neil, truth or dare?”

Neil, never one for truth, chooses dare.

“Do a British accent!” Nicky near-shouts in his excitement.

Neil nods. “Any specific one?”

Nicky’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “A British one?”

Neil opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, and Kevin’s looking at Nicky like he’s said one of the Worst Things Ever (the way he looks at Neil whenever Neil doesn’t want to join him for three-hour practice sessions on Saturday mornings) and Andrew is reminded of his Irish mother.

“You know what?” Neil says. “I’m gonna ignore you said that. And I guess I’ll just… talk normally.”

Andrew feels his attention, previously split between Neil’s face, and Neil’s hair, and the conversation at hand, and whatever he can remember about Kevin’s mother, and the warmth of Neil’s thigh radiating out and being felt on his own, suddenly shift and attach itself to Neil’s words, undivided.

“I’d like you to elaborate on that”, Andrew says.

And when he replies, there’s a foreign lilt to his words that causes a swooping sensation in Andrew’s stomach. (Fuck.) Neil shrugs, and says, “I’ve been pretending to have a Southwestern accent, since that’s where I was supposed to be from. It’s automatic, now, but this is what I naturally sound like.”

After a long, heavy silence, Nicky says, “Dare or dare? I dare you to never use any other accent ever again.”

Neil shrugs again. “I mean, sure.” ‘ _ Shaw _ ’, not ‘sure’.

“My entire worldview has shifted, I feel like someone adjusted it by at least eight degrees, the world has tilted, someone must’ve put a filter over my vision because everything seems different now”, Dan rants. “I have never before seen, truly  _ seen _ , and the change is jarring.”

“Uh”, Neil says, eloquent as always. (The only time he’s ever truly well-spoken is when he’s verbally tearing someone to pieces. Whenever he gets to hear it, Andrew doesn’t completely hate his eidetic memory.) (What would those sharp words and emotional eviscerations sound like in a British accent? Andrew wants to think it’d sound stupid. Wants to, but can’t.) “Are you okay?” ‘ _ Aw yew oh-kay _ ?’  _ Lord _ .  _ Testing me _ .

“Mm-hmm”, Dan squeaks.

“Wait”, Allison says, hands flailing about wildly, legs akimbo. “So, this entire time, this  _ entire time _ \- you were just -  _ pretending _ ?”

“I’m not from Arizona, I figured you realized that by now?” Neil asks, looking genuinely concerned. “My mom was British, from around London, so I basically have the stereotypical British accent. Is it what you were expecting, Nicky?”

Nicky stares for a few seconds, then nods slowly. “Yup, just didn’t realize I was daring you to be yourself. But you know what?” He leans back against Renee’s armchair, where he’s been slouched all night. “I feel like I’ve won.”

“Does that mean I lost?” Neil frowns. Still that  _ accent _ . Sure, it’s hot as fuck, but Andrew’s going to do a double-take whenever Neil opens his mouth for at least several days. Is there even such a thing as getting used to this?

“You’re never going to be able to speak again without them staring at you like you hung the moon”, Andrew informs him with a sigh. “You lost.”

“Says the man currently looking at Neil like he hung the moon”, Kevin huffs.

“I liked it better when you were silent”, Andrew says snidely, now very carefully avoiding Neil’s eyes.

“I really don’t understand what the big deal is”, Neil says, because of course he doesn’t. The man is still convinced that he’s unattractive, there’s no remedying his idiocy. “I sound like my  _ uncle _ .” His nose wrinkles in distaste.

“I dare Neil and Andrew to get a room”, Aaron says loudly from his own corner.

Andrew gives him a long, blank look, then gets up to head for the door. Neil, predictably (but ever so satisfyingly), follows.

“No, wait!” Allison calls out. 

“You have to ask someone before you leave or the chain is broken”, Renee says, which probably isn’t why Allison protested but is the only reasonable thing to protest about.

“Kevin, truth or dare?” Neil asks.

“Dare”, Kevin huffs, having never answered ‘truth’ since he had to admit that what he craved most at the time was a cheeseburger (and somehow  _ not _ a luxury car or a million or billion dollars, the idiot) and the Foxes decided to never stop teasing him about it.

Neil smiles serenely, but the glint in his eyes makes Andrew feel weird and too hot. “Sleep here tonight”, he mumbles, then passes Andrew in the doorway, walking away much like the main character in an action movie walks away from an explosion, not looking back at their teammates’ shocked or delighted faces, their too-loud jeers and calls of ‘ooooOOOOH MY GOD’ and Kevin’s angry spluttering. Andrew shuts the door on their madness, but it can be heard from the other side of the door. Andrew isn’t sure they can get evicted from the athletes’ dorm but he’s sure that they’re going to rack up enough noise complaints to get someone to try.

The door to their room is already open, and Andrew crosses the threshold to see Neil standing just inside with this amused grin on his face. “Didn’t know you have that accent”, Andrew notes. 

“Didn’t know you want to become a professor”, Neil replies, still sounding like the Queen, fuck’s  _ sake _ , crowding into Andrew’s space. The dorm, once the door is closed behind them, is peaceful, and Andrew makes sure to lock before pulling Neil closer. At Neil’s delighted affirmations (and ‘yes’ sounds much the same), he starts pressing kisses to whatever skin he can reach.

“I don’t know that I do. It’s just… Something I’ve been thinking about”, Andrew murmurs, wrapping a hand around the back of Neil’s neck, toying with the curls at his nape. Neil’s hands migrate to Andrew’s shoulders and his lips feel soft against Andrew’s temple. This moment is much too tender. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have been able to bear it. Now, he  _ likes _ it, and he doesn’t try to steer clear of the gentle way Neil’s fingertips trace his throat or the way his own hands seem to want to card through auburn curls just because it makes all Neil’s tension melt away. In moments like this, it’s all too easy to make admissions of weakness. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

Neil knows better than to look at him with pity or concern. He just pulls away slightly to give Andrew an amused look and huff. “Are you kidding? You’re the only reason I’m passing some of my courses right now. Some of my professors are so - flimsy and unorganized and - we need more professors like you.”

That’s… Probably the highest praise Andrew has ever received. He hates the paleness of his skin for betraying the pink he can  _ feel _ suffusing his cheeks. Being told he’s not only good enough but  _ better than _ \- at least in ways he cares about, Kevin’s praise is meaningless, however genuine - is beyond unusual, and that combined with the way Neil’s tongue curls around those words he can already hear repeating in his head, over and over, ‘we need more professors like you’… “Shut up.”

“Okay”, Neil agrees, still smiling. “I will. But just know that I won’t be, like, disappointed in you if you don’t choose Exy. I know it’s my dream, not yours.”

“You didn’t use to act like it”, Andrew grumbles, but he presses a quick kiss to Neil’s jaw. An  _ I’m not actually mad _ , as if Neil didn’t know that already, can’t read him all too well already.

“Everyone matures at some point”, Neil tells him.

It’s too easy a dig not to make. “And when exactly will the rest of our team mature?”

_ Our team _ . A bit of a concession, that. But Andrew doesn’t think he’ll ever stop saying  _ your Foxes _ .

Neil snorts. “Yeah, they were surprisingly fascinated.” Then he tilts his head. Smirks. “As were you.”

“Don’t get it twisted”, Andrew grumbles. With a hold around the loose fabric of Neil’s sweater, he forces him up against the wall next to the door, crowding into his space, Neil’s hazy eyes and relaxed countenance all the reward in the world. “As  _ am _ I, idiot.”

Neil laughs even when Andrew tries to shut him up with his own mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want more of this headcanon, feel free to subscribe to my author page because I’ve got like two more British!Neil fics planned already, it’s kinda ridiculous at this point BUT. Freedom of speech or whatever right lol
> 
> \- kinda looking for a beta reader let me know if interested (here or on tumblr @ plaidfurby)
> 
> To all the British readers, I addressed the fact that there’s more than one British accent in this fic which I don’t think I did before? Sorry?! I know there’s so many but frankly the only one I can reliably recreate in my Brain Voice is like, RP or some Southern/London one, so. Go-to's, and that.


End file.
